Angels (July 15,2008)

Angels
by: Maria Reylan M. Garcia

It was heavy. The plastic bag was as if filled with a ton’s weight of boulders. My hands were getting redder and redder and my muscles seemed to be tearing apart slowly forcing me to stop and catch my breath every five seconds. It was too much to bear, if it weren’t for our Nutrition class, I wouldn’t have drove myself all the way into this sheer torture. We were assigned by our instructor to bring ten different fruits and vegetables by group for our next meeting. Personally, I am not sure if it is virtuous concern or pious martyrdom that lured the three of us, Nilo, Ian and myself, to volunteer the marketing for the whole class. We might not have considered the idea that there were six groups in our class, and if sixty fruits and vegetables carried around the sidewalks of Iloilo City aren’t enough to drain even the last drop of endurance you have, I don’t know what would. But as I was heaving the strength out of my innards, a simple clumsy accident led me in finding refuge and quenching energy from an angel.

The plastic bag betrayed me as it timidly ripped itself without any preliminary warning. Six apples rolled along the mud laden street, turning their red shiny color into a repulsive murky brown. I retrieved the apples instantly but am still confused where to contain them. Just out of nowhere, a middle aged woman carrying a stockpile of hand towels approached me, offered a plastic bag for the forsaken apples and left with a sweet smile. This experience lasted for some seconds, but the impact it poured over me was certainly lifelong. Soon, the plastic bags the three of us were carrying didn’t seem to trouble us at all, everything was lighter. The woman was certainly an angel on earth, though she didn’t appear to be fluttering in midair with cherubim wings, her simple act of kindness is already more than enough to prove so.

I believe in heavenly angels, even if I can’t exactly see them, I just know that for as long as I’m safe and alive, my heavenly angel is guarding me and watching my every move. Acts of kindness should be like that of angels; they can’t be exactly seen but could leave a permanent imprint in our lives. There are some people who are dressed like angels, tending to every need a less fortunate has but brings along a studio set of cameras taking images of the planned outreach program. Kindness would lose its very meaning if it would be made known to the world, as the focus would not be on the act per se, but will be on the actor, the self proclaimed angel. If one’s real motif is helping and nothing more but helping, even if how small it may be, the value would still exceed that of a carefully strategized propaganda. An angel isn’t like a genie that excludes in extravagance promising to grant your every whim but turns out you only get to have three wishes. An angel simply does the sincerest of actions that is kept secret between the both of you, being kind with no boundaries.

There are some people who call themselves angels, but whose kindness has expiration dates. They generously squander their money for relief missions, educational programs and civil services, telecast live their activities and later on would either advertise their products to the recipients or gather some loyal voters. I couldn’t give the most picturesque view of a real angel lingering among us, for their kindness is silent and unconditional. The woman selling hand towels could have used the plastic bag for her own benefit, or could have given me the plastic bag and tried to force me to buy her towels in return. But she did not. It was just a simple plastic bag that saved a matter of six muddy apples but for me, it was worth more than the helicopters of relief goods and shiploads of donations.

It is hard to be truly kind, the kindness that doesn’t require anything in return. A lot of times, we are kind in order to be liked and praised by every one. But real kindness is unconscious. We all had at least once been truly kind in our lives, but I am sure that those instances some of us even fail to remember because they were so simple and ordinary, not televised or headlined, just as simple as offering a plastic bag for six muddy apples.

Angels are among us.
Ma’am with hand towels, wherever you are. Thank You.